Highlander in Her Dreams

by Allie Mackay

  “That has to be how your cousin got up onto the arch that night.” Kira bit her lip, a hundred thoughts churning in her head. “I suspected he’d somehow learned about me. How I got there. Someone must’ve helped him sneak out of the dungeon so he could examine the top of the arch.”

  “Indeed. You’re a wise lassie.” A touch of admiration lit his eyes. “Poor Kendrew must’ve startled him—and suffered the consequences.”

  “But who would’ve helped your cousin?” Kira couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “Your men can’t stand him. And the women, those laundresses—” She broke off, suspicion making her breath catch. “Do you think one of them did it?”

  He frowned. “Help my cousin?” He started pacing again, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked. “Could be. I’ve told you, Conan Dearg exerts a weird influence on women. But I can’t see any of the laundresses doing Lady Fenella any favors.”

  Stopping by the table, he helped himself to another dram of whisky. “It doesn’t matter, Kee-rah.” Confidence rolled off him. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he’d grown several inches. That his powerful shoulders had gone even wider. “Now that I know what to be wary of, I’ll get to the bottom of the matter when we go back. Hopefully we can get there the same night we left. If so, I’m sure I can save Tavish.”

  Kira’s heart sank. “Oh, dear,” she said, half certain the shadows in the room had just deepened, turning as dark as the blackness she felt bearing down on them. Her gaze slid to the little pine table by the door. The slick and colorful issue of Scotland Today lying on the tabletop. “I don’t think we can get back.”

  She hadn’t wanted to say so yet, but now, watching and listening to him talk about saving his friend, she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “The gatehouse arch—”

  “Worked once and will serve us again.” He set down the little crystal dram glass. “You just need to left drive us back to Wrath. We’ll leave in the morning, as soon as you’ve said your farewells to your family and friends.”

  “You don’t understand.” Kira pressed her fingers to her temples. “It won’t matter if we go back to Skye. Even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to get to the arch top. Not even the outermost ruins of your castle.”

  He looked at her, uncomprehending.

  “The site’s under construction,” she tried to explain, pushing to her feet. Going to the little table near the door, she grabbed the Scotland Today and waved it at him. “It’s all in here. You can even see pictures. In the months I’ve been away, Wrath has gone to the National Trust for Scotland. That’s a historical preservation society and they’re currently developing the ruins into a tourist exhibition. They—”

  “A what?” He stared at her, the blood draining from his face. “You mean a place overrun with Ameri-cains and tour buses?”

  Kira nodded, hating that she had to tell him. “Mother said they tried to go there weeks ago when they first arrived, but it’s all roped off and guarded. Even at night. No one can set foot on the property.”

  “I see.” He looked at her, all the flash and gleam in his eyes, vanished. “Put that thing away, Kee-rah,” he said, glancing at the magazine in her hands. “I dinna want to see the images. No’ now.”

  Turning away from her, he went to the cottage’s front window. The one with the view of Mara McDougall Douglas’s One Cairn Village memorial cairn. Its stones and great Celtic cross shimmered silvery blue in the pale luminosity of the late-summer night, the beauty of it twisting Kira’s heart.

  Aidan seemed to be staring at it, too, his shoulders sagging more the longer he stood there, stiff and silent, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

  Kira moved to join him, but stopped halfway there, her stare shooting past him to the big memorial cairn, a smile splitting her soul the instant she made the connection.

  “Oh, God!” she cried, starting to tremble. “I know what we can do!”

  Aidan whipped around, the hope on his face making her heart soar. “You know of another time portal, Kee-rah? Another way we can return?”

  “I might.” She couldn’t lie to him. “Let’s say there’s a chance. If”—she snatched Wee Hughie’s book off the chair and thumbed through its pages until she found what she needed—“we go here! The Na Tri Shean.”

  His brows shot upward. “That accursed place?”

  Kira nodded. “My boss, Dan Hillard, had reason to believe the cairns there aren’t just fairy mounds, but a portal to the Other World and all places beyond and between. A time portal.” She shoved the book beneath his nose, forcing him to look at the black-and-white photograph of the three piles of stone on their hill. “If we go there, maybe, just maybe, we can get back to Wrath.”

  “Cnoc Freiceadain—the Na Tri Shean—is far from here, Kee-rah.” He rubbed his forehead. “Getting there would mean crossing almost the whole of Scotland.”

  “Does it matter?” She tossed aside the book and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. “It’s our only chance.”

  He drew a deep breath, then hugged her back. “Then we shall seize it. I owe Tavish no less.”

  Kira grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you.”

  That he might not was something she wouldn’t consider.

  After all, as Mara McDougall Douglas had said, Scotland was a place of miracles.

  It was past nightfall the next day by the time they passed through the tiny hamlet of Shebster in Scotland’s far north and finally reached the great grass-grown hill that held the three long-chambered cairns known as the Na Tri Shean. A stout, rib-sticking full Scottish breakfast, a swift but emotional farewell from George and Blanche Bedwell and their hosts at Ravenscraig, along with hope, sheer will, and a seemingly endless ribbon of narrow, winding Highland roads had brought them here. And now, turning off the ignition at last, Kira had to struggle to hide her disappointment.

  Dan’s supposed time portal par excellence proved nondescript.

  Little more than a huge, treeless hill stood before them, outlined against the eerily light late-summer night sky. The hill’s summit showed the telltale fairy mounds, said to date back to the third millennium BC, but rather than the massive, well-defined cairns she’d expected, only a scattered jumble of boulders and stones showed that anything really significant had once stood there.

  Getting out of the car, she pushed back her shoulders and glanced at Aidan. “Not very impressive, hmmm? I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “You are thinking like a woman who no longer believes in magic, Kee-rah.” Tossing back his plaid, he whipped out the Invincible and held its blade to the soft, silver-glowing sky. At once, the combined light of the bright crescent moon and the pale northern sun caught the sword’s edge, making its cold, hard steel shine and glow like a living thing. “The power of a place like this remains through time and eternity. It matters little that the man-made cairns are tumbled. Besides”—he reached for her hand, then started forward, up the hill—“the stones only marked what was beneath. It is there, deep under the earth, that we must go.”

  “Under the earth?” Kira stopped, digging in her heels. Suddenly the great grassy hill no longer looked so harmless. “What are you saying?”

  He looked at her, his dark eyes glittering in the strange silvery-blue light. “I thought you knew what long-chambered cairns are.”

  Kira swallowed, not wanting to admit she hadn’t really given it that much thought. At least not as far as entering the cairns and going down into the cold, dark earth.

  “I will be with you, Kee-rah. You needn’t fear.” He traced his knuckles down the curve of her cheek. “Now, come. Get out your flashlight, or whate’er you call it, and help me look for an entrance. There should be three. They’ll be low in the ground, and perhaps hidden by rocks or underbrush. I doubt it matters which cairn we enter. The magic will be powerful in each.”

  Hoping that he was right, Kira fished the flashlight out of her backpack and let him pull her higher up the grassy slope.
They found an entrance quickly, with surprising ease. The dark, low-linteled opening seemed to stare right at them, an impenetrable-looking black hole in the hillside, its contours softened by thick-growing underbrush.

  It also looked painfully small.

  A rabbit hole she doubted either one of them could squeeze into.

  Her stomach tightening, she flicked on the flashlight and aimed it into the darkness. A few moss-covered stone steps gleamed weakly in the narrow band of light. Nothing else was discernible except the narrowness of the dank, low-ceilinged entry.

  “I don’t think anyone above four feet can get down those steps.” She turned to Aidan, sure he’d agree. “Especially not you.”

  To her surprise, he simply shoved the Invincible back into its scabbard and stretched his arms, flexing his fingers. “Once we’ve mastered the steps and crept through the long passage, we’ll come to the inner chamber, Kee-rah. We’ll be able to stand upright then. You’ll see. It willna be so bad.”

  He pulled her close, tightening his arms around her before he released her and grabbed the flashlight. “Come now,” he said, ducking low and stepping into the darkness. “Follow close behind me and keep your head down. Dinna straighten until I tell you.”

  And then he was gone, the blackness swallowing him as he descended deeper into the cairn.

  “Oh, God.” Kira threw one last glance at the parked rental car, then dipped her head to hurry after him.

  Cold, damp, and silence slammed into her, the smell of earth and old stone.

  Grabbing the back of Aidan’s plaid, she prayed her feet wouldn’t slip on the mossy steps. Then, before she knew it, they’d reached the bottom and were crouching along a tight, cobbled passage, its walls seeming to grow more constricting the farther they went.

  “We’re almost there, Kee-rah.” Aidan’s voice echoed in the darkness. “Dinna be afraid.”

  Then he was straightening, pulling her up with him and wrapping a strong arm around her waist, holding her close. They were in a small, oval-shaped chamber with high, stone-slabbed walls and a corbeled ceiling. Kira thought she saw a few tipped-over urns and the remains of an ancient-looking fire, but before she could be certain, Aidan clicked off the flashlight.

  “I dinna think it’s wise to use your light now, sweetness.” He took her hand, easing her down onto the cold stone floor beside him. He gathered her against him, keeping their fingers tightly laced. “We’ll just sit here and think of Wrath and hope the magic works.”

  In the silence, she heard the soft hiss of the Invincible leaving its sheath, then the rustle of his plaid as he settled the great sword across his knees. Its pommel stone glowed a faint red in the darkness, but all else was black. A deep, cloying blackness that suddenly zoomed in on them, then snapped back, exploding into a wild, spinning vortex of bright, eye-piercing color.

  Icy wind rushed past them and the ground shook, tilting crazily as the tornado-like wind swirled faster. Kira’s skirts flew up into her face, covering her head until she yanked them down.

  “Aidan—my clothes!” She grabbed his arm, digging her fingers into him. “My medieval clothes are back!” She twisted around, straining to see him, but where he should have been, was only a flash of black and wild glen, the kind that could have been inhabited by witches and demons. Lightning crackled and zished across the chamber’s ceiling, booming thunder splitting her ears.

  “Wha—” she cried out, but the image vanished instantly, replaced by a young girl in peasant’s clothing, a willow-wand basket clutched to her hip.

  The girl disappeared, too, swept away before Kira even really saw her. More images followed, each one whizzing past at light speed, whirling and whirling, the colors and roar of the wind making her dizzy.

  “Kee-rah! Hold on, lass!” Aidan’s voice rose above the chaos.

  Kira felt his arm tighten around her, almost squeezing the breath from her as a yelling, helmeted Viking war band sped past them, followed immediately by a quick glimpse into the splendor of a Victorian great hall, complete with dark-paneled walls hung with stag heads, weaponry, and gilt-framed portraits. A swirl of cloud and mist came next, then a broad, open stretch of empty moorland, thick with heather and broom.

  A field of daffodils, giving way to the sudden skirl of bagpipes as an army of Highlanders crested a hill, their swords glinting in brilliant sunshine, their banners streaming in the wind.

  Then the cloud and mist returned, the loud wail of the pipes melting into the darkness, leaving only cold and silence, the soft red glow of the Invincible’s pommel stone, and the distant howls of a dog.

  “By the Rood! That’s Ferlie.” Aidan shot to his feet, pulling her up beside him. “Kee-rah, sweet, it’s over. We’ve made it. We’re on the arch.”

  Kira kept her death grip on his arm, her heart pounding. “Thank God!” She glanced at him. “But do you think it’s real? Not like all those images that just whirled past?”

  “Och, ’tis Wrath, aye.” Aidan laughed. “Sure as I’m standing here. I can even see my men patrolling the far side of the parapet walk. And the ladder—it’s still here, propped against the gatehouse, just as we left it.”

  Kira swallowed. Joy swept her when she saw the top of the ladder peeping up over the edge of the arch, the two burly guards on the opposite wall-walk. Ross and Geordie, if she wasn’t mistaken. The Invincible rested on the smooth stone of the arch top, the red gleam of its pommel now matched by the flickering orange-red glow of the smokehouse fires down on the landing strand.

  They were home.

  “Come, lass, I’ve a score to settle.” Aidan snatched up his sword, sheathing it, before he turned toward the ladder. “Let’s hope we’re no’ too late.”

  Scrambling down, he held up his arms for her, helping her descend. He threw a quick glance through the swirling mist toward his keep, relieved to see torchlight glimmering at the window slits. With luck, the feasting would still be in full swing, his cousin yet locked in his dungeon cell.

  They pounded across the cobbles and burst into the hall. Aidan skidded to a halt, disbelief stopping his heart. Instead of being full of stir and turmoil, shouts and laughter, the hall was empty. No one sat at the rows of long tables. On the dais, his overturned laird’s chair and a toppled bench indicated a hasty departure. As did the many filled trenchers and ale cups, the still-burning candles in the silver candelabrums.

  Aidan’s blood ran cold.

  Now he knew why the hall door had stood wide and poor Ferlie howled somewhere, deep in the bowels of the castle.

  The other castle dogs were gone, though by straining his ears, he could hear them now. Barking in the distance, along with the muffled cries of men. A woman’s sudden piercing wail, the sound making his gut clench.

  “Guidsakes! It’s happening!” He grabbed Kira’s hand, pulling her with him from the hall, racing to the low arched door that led to the dungeon. “Tavish!” he roared, shouting as they ran. “Hold, man! We’re coming!”

  But when they rushed down the dark, narrow stair and reached Conan Dearg’s cell, the heavy iron-bound door stood cracked, a fresh-looking pool of blood near the threshold leaving no doubt as to what had transpired.

  “Dear God!” Beside him, Kira clapped a hand to her throat, her face paling as she stared at the blood. “We’re too late.”

  “Nay! Dinna say it.” Aidan whipped around, pressing his hand against her lips. “It could be my cousin’s blood. It must be—I’ll no’ allow otherwise!”

  Kira looked at him, her stomach clenching. “Then they’ll be down at the boat strand—the drowning part.”

  “That’ll be the way of it,” he agreed, already sprinting down the fetid passage. “Pray God we get there in time.”

  Streaking after him, Kira kept a hand pressed to her ribs, half afraid her heart would jump right through them if she didn’t. Aidan almost scared her. Never had she seen him look so fierce.

  So deadly.

  He shot up the stairs and through the hall with explosiv
e speed, gripping his sword hilt as he ran, not breaking stride until they’d crossed the bailey and neared the small postern door in the curtain walling. As at Conan Dearg’s cell, they found the door ajar. Ferlie paced to and fro in front of the opening, howling and fretting, his lame back legs keeping him from bounding down the cliff steps to the landing strand below.

  “He’s no’ dead, Ferlie,” Aidan tossed at him, pausing just long enough at the top of the steps to reach again for Kira’s hand. “I can see him! Tavish. And my cousin.” He glanced at her, his eyes wild, blazing. “They’re at the water’s edge, fighting.”

  And they were. Kira saw them now as well. Aidan’s men and a pack of crazed, barking dogs crowded the little strand, Tavish and Conan Dearg going at each other in the middle of a small cleared circle. She saw, too, that the reddish-orange glow she’d noticed from the arch wasn’t caused by the strand’s smokehouses, but came from the torches that many of Aidan’s men held above their heads. The flames gave the scene a hellish taint, the men’s shouts and the clashing shriek of steel meeting steel filling her with terror.

  In Wrath Bay, a lone galley sped seaward, its hoisted sail declaring the MacLeod colors, the widow’s face as she stood clutching the rail bathed as red as the torch flames. Her raven hair streamed in the night wind and her galley was already beginning to founder, lurching heavily to one side as it raced toward the rocks of Wrath Isle.

  “Oh, God,” Kira cried as they flew down the steep cliff-side steps. “It’s just like you said it would be! That boat’s going to hit those rocks any minute, and Tavish—”

  “—is holding his own,” Aidan panted as they tore down the last few steps and leapt onto the pebbly strand, “and I’m about to relieve him!”

  Aidan wrenched the Invincible from its scabbard. Men leapt back, freeing a path as he ran across the beach, sword raised, fury in his eye. Ahead, Tavish and Conan Dearg circled each other, blades feinting and slashing, both men bloodstained and sweating.

  His own sword already lashing, Aidan hurled himself at his cousin, sweeping the Invincible in a great, eye-blinding figure-eight motion. “Conan Dearg!” he roared, “’tis time for a reckoning!”